Happiness is a Forgotten Tire Swing

Hours of childhood were spent savoring the warm summer air
on the old tire swing by the lakeside
watching the willows glow as they absorbed the golden rays of the setting sun.
As night fell we frolicked in a moonlit meadow
hunting for the glowing embers of fireflies.
Those crepuscular pests became prisoners of the glass jar,
incandescent with the beetles’ bioluminescent radiance.
In the black forests of the night we blazed a trail by jar-light
and emerged at our precious lakeside swing.